In the lower court of Caer Alam in Lofton, the troops were being gathered, the shoutings of the men of Alamie mixed with the whinning of horses, covering the clater of steel. Lord Carilon was standing on the battlements with his wife at his side, their backs ostensibly turned to the opposite riverbank, and the City of the Usurpers.
Eventually the men were gathered and ordered for the journey, leaving through the Northern Gate, nicknamed the Scarlet Gate, following the return of the Heroes of the Scarlet Leaves campaign, two hundred years before.
After seeing the last of riders and footmen leaving the City, the Archduke gave a stern look at the leaden late winter sky. Time had come to grasp back the birthright of House Alam. Taking his wife by her arm, he gently walked back towards his privy office, a burst of coughing shaking his frame. Time was running out.
